Page 37 of Wrath of the Never Queen

When we reach his chambers, the princelays me gently on his bed. I try to draw in a slow breath, but I’m stifled by the pain in my side. Tears start to fall.

“I will need to see the wound,” he says. His voice is gentle, a far cry from the sharpness before. “May I?”

He gestures at my shirt, his face plain except for the telltale muscle in his jaw. After a moment’s hesitation, I give a small nod and take my hand away from my side.

The prince delicately peels my shirt up, revealing one side of my torso. He is careful not to expose any more of me than he needs to, which I should not be grateful for but am. I look down. Black and red blooms across my ribs, where my skin is bruised. The prince inhales sharply, his brow puckered.

“My apologies,” he says before gently pressing on the bruise. White-hot pain burns like fire in my torso. I squeeze my teeth together to keep from crying out.

“The bone,” he says, pulling back. “I believe it is broken. It is painful indeed, but it will heal by itself.”

“How…long?” I gasp, blinking away tears.

“A few weeks, I would think.”

I groan and close my eyes. I have precious little time already, and now, I will have even less.

The prince pulls my shirt back down, covering me again, before turning to his nightstand. I watch him as he searches for thelavender tonic.

“My…how the…tables turn…” I wheeze in between short breaths. The prince frowns, uncorking the bottle.

“This is no time for joking,” he says firmly. “You could have—”

He cuts himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Silence falls over us.

“I am sorry,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“No.” He waves a hand. “I cannot and will not be angry at you for attempting to leave. Do not be sorry.”

The prince takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and gently tips the lavender topic past my lips. It is sickly sweet, but the effects are immediate—the sharp edge of pain in my ribs dulls to an ache. I relax into the bed.

“I knew what you were planning to do,” the prince confesses. “I followed you.”

Through the haze of the lavender tonic, I squint at him.

“Why did you not stop me?” I ask. My voice is slightly slurred, my tongue heavy in my mouth.

“Why would I? You deserve to leave this place. All of you have.” The jaw in his muscle flutters again. “I just wanted to make sure you left safely.”

My eyelids droop as a deep sleep beckonsme. The worries and fears plaguing me seem so distant now. Absently, I reach for the prince’s hand. I feel his fingers interwoven with mine, warm and solid.

He says something, but I am already falling into the depths of a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 16

Month Three

The end of the summer months is signalled by the Firebug Festival. Each year, the firebugs buzzing around the humid swamps of Mossgarde migrate to warmer climates. I have fond memories of Aunt Meena holding my hand tight as she took me to the village centre when I was young. She made sure to wrap a thin scarf around my neck to keep the first nip in the air out. We, and the rest of the village, gathered to watch the glow of the firebugs as they started their long journey.

“Does the king allow you to watch the firebugs?” I ask Vanya as I roll dough in the castle kitchens. It is the first time she has allowed me to partake in kitchen tasks since my injury. I find myself enjoying the rhythmic back and forth as I knead, able to ignore the twinge in my ribs.

“He does,” Vanya replies simply. I amunable to take my eyes off my dough in case I roll it too thin but surprise shoots my eyebrows up.

“Really?”

“Half of us,” she concedes. “The other half must work through it.”

“Oh.” My shoulders sag. “Well, that is a shame. They are beautiful, indeed.”

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